Poem | Breaking Ground

 

The earth floats stones to the surface in spring

to gawk at the moon and the stars and the sun

like skulls that are strewn in the Valley of Bones,

the sockets whistling with songs of the wind

that drift like the dreams of long-dead men

who still, in the cadences of silence, sing,

‘these, my bones, will rise again.’ 

Published in the November 10, 2017 issue: 
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Tom Furlong teaches writing at the County College of Morris in Randolph, New Jersey, and has also taught at Pennsylvania State, Drew, and Montclair State Universities. His poems and light verse have appeared in America, the National Catholic Reporter, the New York Times, the New York Daily News Sunday Magazine, and the Newark Star-Ledger.

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